Absence of Hate
by Flaming Trails
Summary: Nell Van Dort reflects after the birth of her son.


Absence Of Hate

By Flaming Trails

A Corpse Bride Story

Disclaimer: I don't own "Corpse Bride." If I did, Victor's parents would have been seen after the credits, completely lost (and possibly in France).

_Notes: This was one of those stories that grabbed me and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. I'd been worrying that perhaps I was unfairly demonizing Nell in another fic I was working on, and thought up this to explain a little more of her mindset. I was rather strongly influenced by the fic "Approval," especially in Nell preferring girls to boys. Her having a hard time having kids was inspired by another fic as well – I thought it worked well as an explanation for Victor being an only child. Victor's middle name was inspired by the first name of Mr. Darcy of "Pride and Prejudice," who happens to be a crush of a friend of mine. I thought it sounded silly enough to saddle poor Victor with._

She supposed she loved him.

Nell Van Dort looked down at the little bundle in her arms. A baby looked back at her – the skinniest, palest baby she'd ever seen, with huge eyes and a few wisps of black hair. Her baby. The baby she'd labored hours to bring into the world. And now he was here and being oddly silent, just – looking around. She'd thought babies cried a lot. Not that she was complaining, the sound of a baby crying all the bloody time would probably drive her into bedlam. Better for him to be the silent type.

She studied him for a moment. She certainly didn't hate the little bugger. She didn't want to dash his brains out against a rock, or leave him on some other couple's doorstep. So yes, she supposed she did love him. Mothers couldn't help loving their children, could they? Her mother had loved her, and she was reasonably certain William's mother had loved him. It was just one of the facts of life – your mother loved you. Ergo, she loved him.

Him.

She sighed. She couldn't deny she was disappointed. Hell, she didn't _want_ to deny it. All these years of trying and trying and trying, and what did she end up with? A boy. A bloody little boy. She'd been expecting a girl – a sweet, beautiful, wonderful little girl. Instead she'd gotten a tiny little boy who looked (if you weren't feeling charitable, which she wasn't at the moment) a bit like an overgrown worm. With hair, which was rather creepy.

It wasn't fair. It simply was not fair. All that hard work, and for what? They'd been trying for _ages_ to have this baby. Right from the start of their marriage, in fact. Nell had laid down the rules on their wedding night – they'd try until they had two children, one for each of them. Then that was it – she didn't have the patience for more. Quietly, she'd wondered if she'd even have the patience for two, but she figured she could hire nannies and nurses to help with the dirty bits. The Van Dorts were already rather comfortably middle class by the time she'd married into the family, and William had promised to make her rich. That was the main reason they'd married, honestly – William would ensure she'd be rich and have the best of everything, and in return she'd keep the house tidy and provide a bit of companionship. And children, of course, but that was a given. You couldn't have a marriage without children – it was practically immoral.

So why had it been so hard for them?

Nell eyed the little baby. It had taken ten years of married life to get to this point. At first, she just hadn't gotten pregnant at all. They'd tried regularly (a rather annoying affair – William tended to try and touch her too much, she kept having to swat his hands away) but nothing had resulted until their third year of marriage, when the doctor finally said she was expecting. Nell had happily started designing the nursery and looking up appropriate nursemaids to hire, while William strutted around like a particularly dull peacock.

Then she'd miscarried.

Undaunted, they tried again. And again she miscarried. By the fourth time, Nell was starting to get a little irritated. Five years into their marriage, and not a child in sight. People were giving them looks on the street, and the doctor was insinuating something might be wrong with Nell. Which _really_ irritated her – there was nothing wrong with _her_! If anything, the problem was with _William_! It was _him_ that was defective! Here she was, in the prime of her life, and he couldn't get her pregnant! Imagine! She wished she'd chosen a better husband. Obviously the one she had, while making plenty of money, didn't have his – well, such thoughts were improper for a lady. But he ought to get – _it_ – looked at, in her opinion.

Finally, though, she managed to get pregnant again. Six years in, and they made it past those dangerous months that usually ended in blood and sighs and a few tears. Nell had actually been getting excited as the end of the ninth month neared. Finally, a baby! And she knew it was going to be the sweet little girl she'd dreamed of. She imagined dressing her up in the best outfits, and taking her out for the daily promenade, and teaching her how to sew and how to land a good man and how to order servants about.

Then, finally, the day of the birth came. And bloody hell, had it hurt! She'd screamed and howled and threatened William, the doctor, and everyone she could think of with various painful deaths. It had taken hours to finally push the baby out, and when she did –

The doctor and the midwives had explained to her what had happened. The umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around the baby's neck. And oftentimes, when that happened, it was too late no matter what you did. And they'd done everything they could, working for hours to prevent the inevitable.

She'd had her little girl. And she'd died the same day she was born.

Nell and William were devastated. All that trying, all that hard work, and in the end all they had was a little corpse to bury. They'd named her Anna Marie, had a tombstone carved, and buried her in a quiet corner of the old graveyard. Nell had never gone there again – it was too painful to think of _her little girl_ moldering under that old rock. All her dreams were destroyed in one horrible instant.

They'd tried again some time later. After that resulted in a miscarriage, Nell had given up. Obviously it was not her lot in life to have children. She didn't think she'd mind the lack all that much – the few servants they had kept her busy enough. And what with William at the cannery at all bloody hours, it was hard to see how they'd even have the time for a child.

Nine months ago, though, William had approached her one last time, begging her to reconsider. And in the end, she'd relented, though she told him straight up, "This is your last chance, you hear? If this doesn't work – or even if it does – no more. I can't take it." William had agreed, and so they'd tried once more.

And she'd gotten pregnant, and stayed pregnant. She'd let herself get a little excited again as the months went on. She'd never quite get over the sting of losing Anna, but at least now she'd have a lovely new girl to raise!

And now, here she was. With her _son._

Not that she hated her son. She was sure on that fact. She just – didn't know what to _do_ with a son. She'd prepared for a girl. She'd been expecting a girl. She'd _wanted_ a girl! And now she had a boy, and she was lost. What did you _do_ with boys? How did you raise them? She couldn't dress him up in pretty dresses, that was for certain. And she couldn't teach him how to sew or land a wife. She frowned down at the little boy. What _was_ she going to do?

Oh well. William would be happy, at least. He'd have a heir for his cannery. And she'd already planned to hire the nanny once they were certain they had the money to afford it. She'd just have to get one who knew boys, that was all. Raising him properly could be the nanny's problem. She'd help now and again, of course – she was the mother – but really, it seemed best to leave it to someone else. Boys were too complicated for her to bother with.

There was a knock at the door, and William came in, all smiles under his mustache. "The doctor just told me the good news," he said, chest puffed up. "We have a son, then?"

"Come and see for yourself," Nell responded, holding up the little bundle. The boy eyed his father as William came around to see him. "Scrawny little thing, isn't he?" she added, frowning at him.

"I'm sure he'll fill out with time," William said, regarding the baby with a grin. "It's how us Van Dorts are. You shouldn't worry about it."

"I wasn't _worried_ about it, I was merely making an observation," Nell said haughtily. William was right, though – she should have expected this. The entire Van Dort clan looked like a bunch of scarecrows. No wonder her baby was so skinny and pale. Hopefully enough of her had gotten into the little creature to balance it all out.

William nodded, then peered over his spectacles at her curiously. "You, ah, thought of a name?"

Nell frowned again at the baby. Oh, she'd thought of a name – for a girl. This was going to be Josephine. She supposed she could call him Joseph, but he didn't look like a Joseph. She tilted her head, studying him from a different angle. She rather liked James, but he didn't look like a James either. Fitzgerald? That was a good upper-class name, the kind you found with a title attached. But he didn't look like one of those, either. Maybe for a middle. "Oh, I don't know," she finally said, sighing. "You pick something. He's your son, you know."

William looked thoughtful. "Well – I rather like Victor," he offered up after a moment.

Nell nodded. It didn't make no nevermind to her. "Fine. He's Victor. Victor Fitzgerald Van Dort."

To her puzzlement, William looked a bit hurt. "Fitzgerald?"

"Yes? What's wrong with that?" Nell asked, her tone daring him to find fault with her lovely, noble name. He wanted to see the family break into the proper ranks of society as much as she – how could their son do that without a proper name?

William shrugged, his cheeks turning pink. "I just – I thought we'd use my name for the middle," he said, sounding embarrassed. "It's tradition with my family."

Oh, right. Her horrid mother-in-law would probably complain every chance she got if Nell didn't call her son Victor William. But she _liked_ Fitzgerald – and she felt she ought to get _something_ she liked here! Maybe they could give him two middle names? Victor William Fitzgerald. Victor Fitzgerald William. Victor –

It came to her in a flash. "Fitzwilliam!"

William jumped, startled. "Pardon?"

"We'll call him Fitzwilliam for the middle!" It was fantastic! She'd known she was a genius, but this was truly bloody brilliant. And it even sounded better than Fitzgerald. Fitzwilliam, a name a man could wear with pride! He'd better wear it with pride, anyway.

William seemed to agree, judging by his grin. "Perfect. Victor Fitzwilliam Van Dort."

"Right," Nell said firmly, looking at the baby. He just stared back at her, raising no objections to his new name. Not that she would have paid attention if he had. (All right, maybe she would have, simply from the shock of having her baby speak at ten minutes old.) "Victor Fitzwilliam Van Dort."

She'd make the best of it. They had their child, and that was that. The family line would continue on, and that was the important thing, she supposed. Even if she didn't get her little girl. For a moment, she felt upset that Victor hadn't been the one to come first, and Anna now. She quickly banished the thought, though – it was hardly Christian. _And really,_ she thought, affirming it to herself once again, _I don't _hate_ him._ _I'm his mother. That means I have to love him._

Except that, deep down, even she knew love was more than the mere absence of hate.

The End


End file.
